


Too Late

by rowaelinsmut



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Battle, Canon Compliant, Character Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowaelinsmut/pseuds/rowaelinsmut





	Too Late

The haze from the smoke of the blazing fires surrounding the battlefield made it difficult to tell friend from foe and Aedion Ashryver, Wolf of the North, was desperate. He had been separated from Lysandra almost immediately after the front lines collided and he had panicked. He’d gotten sloppy on the field and earned himself several wounds; the worst of which to his chest, where a witch had slashed her iron nails deep into his left pectoral before Aedion had brought the Sword of Orynth up in a sweeping arc to behead her.

Witches. Valg. Ilken.

All manners of nightmares he had to face for his kingdom, for his Queen, but his primary concern, his main distraction was the shifter.

Another of Erawan’s ilken landed in front of him and he swore. The blood loss was starting to fog his vision and his fae healing was flagging along with his strength. It had been hours. So many bloody, gory hours since he last saw a friendly face. The swing of his sword was mechanical at this point and with his thoughts plagued by his worry for Lysandra…

“Half-breed filth,” the ilken hissed at him.

Aedion summoned the Wolf of the North with his remaining wits, “If I’m half-breed filth, what does that make you?”

The ilken roared its fury and swiped with it’s poisoned claws. Aedion brought his sword up to meet the ilken’s blow and the force of their coming together rattled Aedion’s teeth. He released a growl and pulled back abruptly, his muscles screaming with relief but he couldn’t rest.

The ilken was on him again and Aedion whirled around in a circle, just out of reach of the ilken’s poisoned claws, gripping the pommel of the sword with both hands before severing the head of the ilken with a roar. The ilken’s dark body folded to the ground, the head lost in the surrounding mass of bodies after it went flying.

Aedion surveyed the surrounding area. Bodies, human and demon littered the grounds, red blood and black blood mixing together in sinister puddles. So much blood. Aedion coughed as he inhaled more smoke. He had to get out of here, he had to see.

He stumbled over the bodies strewn on the ground, using his sword as a sort of cane but the ground was so downtrodden from the blood soaking into it that it was almost useless. Aedion finally cleared the hazy area and took a deep breath of the fresh air. 

But even that was tainted by the stain of death.

He climbed up the hill so he could have a chance at seeing where Lysandra fought. From his vantage point he could see everything. Thousands of people and demons and fae and witches crashing into one another, wyverns fighting in the sky with and against the ilken, depending on whose side you were on.

And in the centre of everything, flame and blackness warring together in a battle of wicked and powerful magic, the beginning and end of everything.

Aelin.

Aedion couldn’t help the sheer panic pressing on him at the weight of magic his cousin had to use to win against the King. The darkness was flagging and while that should give him some comfort because if Erawan fell, then the rest of his stain did too, but he wished he could be there, beside his Queen.

He finally spotted the ghost leopard he was so familiar with, furiously fighting with the valg. Aedion breathed a sigh of relief, she was maybe fifty yards away from him. If he ran, he could be by her side once again guarding her, aiding her, protecting her.

Aedion started to lope down the hill towards Lysandra at the same time the flames from Aelin overcame the darkness flowing from the Valg King. Aedion didn’t know how she did it, what the cost was, but she burned that blackness from the field.

“Yes!” Aedion roared sprinting now towards Lysandra who he could see shift back into her own form, covered from head to toe in blood and other body matter. Lysandra finally looked towards him and she screamed his name, her smile wide and beautiful even from this far away, beckoning him towards her.

And that’s when the stray arrow tore through her chest.

Aedion screamed. Pain. So much pain.

He pushed himself faster and he reached her before she hit the ground.

“Lysandra! No, no, no. You’ll be fine, you have to be fine.”

Aedion cradled her head in his arms, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones.

“Aedion,” she gasped, blood bubbling up over her lips.

“Shh, don’t talk. Save your strength.”

He looked around, “Aelin!” He roared, hoping she was near enough to hear.

“Hang on, Lys, Aelin can heal you. It’s going to be fine.” His voice cracked on the last word.

She stared up at him, her striking green eyes wide with shock. She clutched at his hand, squeezing tight.

“I love you,” she managed before she coughed again, her blood spattering across Aedion’s face.

A tear slid down Aedion’s cheek, mixing with the blood in a gruesome mess, “You can’t die, Lysandra. I forbid it. We need time. I-I promised you would be a Princess. Remember, that day in Skull’s Bay? When I told you I wanted to marry you. I mean it, every word.”

Lysandra nodded, her breathing laboured and finally Aelin dropped to her knees on Lysandra’s other side.

“Lysandra,” she whispered, trying to put pressure on the wound in her dearest friends’ chest.

“Use your magic, Aelin, your healing magic. You can fix this.” Aedion pleaded but Aelin’s eyes were wide and Aedion knew then that there was nothing left. Aelin had no power, no magic to save her friend, to save the love of his life. She was too late.

The Gods had tossed a coin and decided the fate of the woman he loved. He hated the Gods. He hated his cousin. He hated magic.

He pulled Lysandra closer. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

And Lysandra’s body gave a small convulsion, like a laugh in response to his words, but the blood that bubbled over her lips was too much and she started to choke and Aedion shoved Aelin’s hands off her body and tucked her in his arms, holding her against his chest.

Holding on.

But her chest had stopped rising and falling and a rattle came out of her mouth from deep within her chest and Aedion knew she was no longer breathing.

That steadying heart ceased beating.

She was gone.

Aedion’s tears were flowing and he wound his fingers in Lysandra’s hair, holding her lifeless form to his chest. And Aedion looked to the sky and roared his fury, his grief, his hatred and his loss so loud that the ground beneath them shook.

There would be no happy ending for them. There would be no them.

And for once in Aedion’s life, he gave up hope.

There was nothing left for him. All the light flickered out when she stopped breathing. There was nothing left.


End file.
